


Blinded By Your Love of This Weird Bear ("Don't Worry, He's a Good Bear!")

by baruffio



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Ruining History (Web Series)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-04-18 05:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14206317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baruffio/pseuds/baruffio
Summary: As punishment for falling asleep on guard duty, Private Madej is relegated with the task of chaperoning an Ally soldier in the Polish II Corps. Between the language barrier and the American's irrational fear of the beloved Private Wojtek, things don't quite go to plan.





	1. Trouble Bruin

**Author's Note:**

> This story is in 3rd person limited to Shane. In this story, Shane only speaks Polish; to reflect that, English lines are spelled to represent the phonemes and pauses.

Private Madej jolts to attention when a unit of soldiers briskly trots to the mouth of the camp. A hunched figure stands frozen on the edge of the path. Private Madej rubs mucus out of the corners of his eyes and watches the exchange between the man and the troop with surly interest.

 

It is not Private Madej’s first time falling asleep on watch duty. He simply doesn't have the temperament to spend inordinate amounts of nighttime studying the shadows as sleep coquettishly presses down his eyelids. In the first World War, sleeping on guard would have been punishable by execution. Nowadays, it is likely result with his placement on the vanguard.

 

The soldiers spring into action in a fraction of a second. Private Madej sourly regards as the intruder is restrained and frog-marched into camp. He is resigned to an official reprimand.

 

Scarcely ten minutes later, Private Madej is relieved by Private Zaleski. He anticipates the order to report to Lieutenant Anders, but doesn’t find that this knowledge particularly settling.

 

Lieutenant Anders is resplendent in his full uniform. Private Madej tactfully averts his eyes from the misaligned buttons and glowers at the intruder, who sits at Anders' table.

 

“He’s Japanese!” Private Madej blurts in astonishment. His stare bounds back and forth between the lieutenant and the unwelcome visitor. “A Jap!”

 

The intruder’s face creases into frown lines. “Aymeracan! Imma meracan.”

 

“He claims to be an American,” Lieutenant Anders says.

 

“Right,” Private Madej says dubiously. Anders' face darkens, and Private Madej is quick to correct himself. “Sir, surely we don’t take his word for it--”

 

The intruder is still talking, and Private Madej turns to stare at him in disbelief.

 

“Forth genarashion ameracan, forth genarashion! Alzo theresn ota nownzov japanis bludin mei vaynz yu rasist git. Im just uh frakshion filapeno. Totali dif frent!” The little guy has worked himself into a frenzy and is furiously gesticulating.

 

“He has evidence to support his story,” Lieutenant Anders says. “This is Private Ryan Steven Bergara, an American volunteer serving with the British legion.” Anders throws a fond look to the intruder. “Private Bergara takes offense at your grouping the Orients into one ethnicity.”

 

Private Madej briefly considers addressing the irony in the statement, but settles instead for scowling at Bergara. “Sir, why am I here?”

 

Lieutenant Anders rises and begins pacing the tent. “Although our visitor is able to collaborate his story with evidence, we can’t let him loose around camp. He will be traveling with us for the next few weeks, and he needs a supervisor.”

 

“Sir!”

 

“You slacked on your duty, Private.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Private Madej pouts. Bergara, politely bewildered, swivels his gaze back and forth between officers.

 

“You are responsible for keeping Bergara out of trouble and making him useful in whatever way possible,” Lieutenant Anders says. He kindly addresses Bergara in English, and Private Madej narrows his eyes at Bergara’s reaction.

 

He looks extremely displeased.

 

Private Madej feels much the same.

 


	2. A Paws on Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan Bergara is fully credited for how Ryan Bergara interacts with Private Wojtek. I literally took the words out of his mouth.

You’d think that a vagrant soldier creeping around military camps in the middle of the night would be very interesting.

 

You’d think that, but, as Private Madej is quickly discovering, you’d be dead wrong.

 

The intruder-- _Private Bergara_ , Private Madej reluctantly self-corrects-- is a squirrelly man who twitches at nothing and stares blankly when Private Madej attempts communication. Private Madej is willing to acknowledge that they didn’t get off to the best of starts, but Bergara seems to be in no hurry to improve first impressions.

 

It’s damn impossible to fall back asleep with Bergara quaking and squeaking in the spare bag at Private Madej’s elbow. Every time Private Madej has reached that blissful precipice of sleep, Bergara shudders and twists and turns. When Private Madej asks--and very politely at that!--for Private Bergara to stop making a racket, Bergara starts spewing English.

 

Private Madej resolves to be a better person if this is what damnation looks like.

 

When the sun begins its ascent, Private Madej blearily crawls out of the tent. Looking back, he is immediately peeved to see Bergara tucking _his_ bedroll underneath his head and drifting into sleep.

 

Not on Private Madej’s watch.

 

He clears his throat and, once Private Bergara’s eyes are squinting at him, offers a smile. “Would you like to see our bear?” he asks very carefully, making sure to enunciate each syllable clearly. He struggles to keep the smugness from reaching his face. Ha! There’s no way Beragara can sleep with an offer like this.

 

“Yuno ay kant undarstayndyu,” Bergara grumbles. He blinks slowly, and Private Madej, in desperation, snarls, mimes biting, and points to his teeth.

 

“Oh!” Private Bergara says. “Brekfast!” He sidles out of his sleeping bag and steps right up to Private Madej.

 

“You must really like bears,” Private Madej says unenthusiastically. He had hoped to rob Bergara of sleep, not give him a new thing to be enthused about.

 

“Sari. Pursunal spais. Gadit.” Bergara takes a half step back. “Lidda wai.” Private Madej rolls his eyes and makes his way to the kitchen tent. Bergara follows close behind.

 

Private Madej smirks as he sees dewy imprints leading to mess. There’s a familiar huffing and snorting, the scrape of a can getting opened using untraditional methods…

 

“Private Bergara,” Private Madej grabs a handful of the tent, “meet Private Wojtek!”

 

Private Bergara throws him a look partway between confused and endeared as he enters the tent. “Duyu nateet brekfast?”

 

Private Madej claps a hand to his forehead. The man is unmoved by the most frighteningly adorable creature in the Polish Army. He can’t stand the disrespect. To just continue to babble incessantly--is it too much to demand a duel to defend Wojtek’s honor?

 

Private Madej’s thoughts are interrupted by a very rapid series of events.  

 

Private Wojtek stands abruptly and cocks his head at them. The dim light glistens on the marmalade smeared on his snout.

 

Private Bergara turns at the sound and emits a high-pitched series of sounds. “AAAAAAAHHOLI SHIT! THATSA FUKIN BER! HOLI SHIT!”

 

Private Wojtek, mastery of mimicry, roars and brandishes his arms.

 

Bergara sprints out of the tent, grabbing Privat Madej’s arm in the passing, and yanks them around one row of tents and down the line to the end of the encampment.  

 

Private Madej is embarrassingly breathless; but in his defense, he thinks he might have broken several ribs from laughing too hard. He collapses on the ground as Bergara continues to stream his high-pitched English. It seems to be transitioning from fear to anger.

 

Unaddressed, Bergara’s rage eventually dwindles into irritation. He pokes a still-cackling Private Madej in the chest a few times.

 

“Your face,” Private Madej chortles, and he does his best impression of Bergara’s petrified face. Bergara’s ears turn bright pink, and he spends a few seconds looking indignant before collapsing to the ground and wheezing out a few hysterical giggles.

 


	3. A Grizzly Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bergara meets other soldiers in the troop, and a joke goes too far.

Bergara is hesitant to leave the spot behind the tent. Private Madej tries, in vain, to assure him that Private Wojtek is absolutely harmless--okay, well, maybe not harmless, but definitely not intending harm. It takes a solid five minutes of coaxing before Bergara, bright red and mumbling in English, darts behind Private Madej and twitches at his shoulder.

 

By this time, several other soldiers are emerging from their tents, Private Madej registers eyes focusing, brows furrowing, and mouths pinching into snarls.

 

“Morning!” he says with dry cheer.

 

“THERE’S A --” Paczkowski bellows, and Private Madej rushes to shout over him.

 

“This is Private Bergara. Anders put him under my watch. He’s an Ally soldier who will be staying here until transport can be arranged.” He tosses a look down at Bergara, who seems to be growing steadier in face of opposition. “Also, just to clarify, he’s not Japanese. He’s...what are you?”

 

Bergara looks back at him and shrugs.

 

“Japanese,” Private Madej prompts, and Bergara’s jaw squares.

 

“Justabit filapeeno. Mos tly ameracun.”

 

“That’s right,” Private Madej says. “He’s filapeeno.”

 

“What’s that?”  Warzel marches forward, and to Private Madej’s total surprise, Private Bergara steps forward to meet him.

 

“I don’t know. I’m on childcare duty, not Master of Geography.”

 

“I bet it’s part of Japan,” Warzel sniffs. He’s standing toe-to-toe with Bergara.

 

“Ihm nota scerd ovu,” Bergara huffs back.

 

“Shouldn’t you be keeping him out of trouble?” Paczkowski says sarcastically.

 

“From where I’m standing, he’s not getting into it. Warzel, back off. Let’s go get breakfast.” Private Madej laughs. The sound rings high and false in his ears, but he persists. “We went earlier, and Bergara met Private Wojtek.”

 

The men soften at the mention of Wojtek. Bergara stiffens.

 

“No,” Bergara pleads, abandoning his stare-off with Warzel to shove at Private Madej. “Stap! Nounz gointo taykmi seriusli--”

 

“I asked him if he wanted to see our bear, and he agreed pretty energetically. Keep in mind, he doesn’t speak a word of Polish, so he had no clue what he was agreeing to. We got to the mess tent, and there was ol’ Wojtek, plopped on the floor, going to town on a jar of marmalade. It was dark in the tent, so Bergara didn’t see Wojtek at first.” Bergara stops shoving at Private Madej and begins trying to physically cover his mouth.

 

“At first?” Oshinsky repeats. His voice is shaking with a nascent laugh.

 

“Bergara turns back to look at me, and when he had next turned around, Wojtek was fully upright and curious. Bergara--” Private Madej breaks into laughter, and Bergara turns bright red. “This man screams like a child, so obviously--”

 

“Wojtek yelled back?” Kantrowitz snorts. Private Madej breaks anew into belting laughter, and, one by one, the others join in. Beragara whines out something in English and then, red-faced, chuckles.

 

Private Madej breathes a sigh of relief. Bergara immediately looks up at him and they share an eternal second of somber expressions before rejoining in the mirth.

 

Oshinsky throws an arm around Bergara’s shoulder and leads the way to breakfast. Private Madej stays close behind and keeps a careful eye on Warzel.

 

Bergara and Oshinsky are inseparable. They chatter nonstop over breakfast, pointing indiscriminately at everything and turning to the other for translation.

 

“Lyzka?”

 

“Right! Spoon,” Oshinsky beams. “Spun?”

 

“Spaoon,” Bergara corrects.

 

Some of the others attempt to join in but rapidly lose interest. Bergara and Oshinsky are a match made in heaven; between their boundless, bordering on the obsessive enthusiasm and their equally insanely pleased expressions, they look like old friends. Private Madej yawns into his sleeve and humorlessly wonders whether Oshinsky would be willing to have him sleep in his tent.

 

When they go to training, Bergara partners with Oshinsky. In lieu of translating everything in sight, they seem fully invested in some sort of game of charades. Private Madej doesn’t pay too much attention to it. If Bergara wants to go make his own friends, he is most welcome to.

 

After running the drills, Private Madej leaves Bergara in Oshinsky’s capable hands to return to his tent and compose a letter to Sara. He perches on his sleeping bag and pulls out a sketch of her likeness from his chest pocket. Sara stares mischievously up at him from the sketch, her short hair curling around her sharp features. He wonders if she still waits for him. It’s been almost three years since they last lay eyes on each other, and although he wrote her as soon as the Soviets released his unit, Private Madej has yet to receive a reply.

 

_Dearest Sara,_

 

_I worry that none of my letters reach you. Things are about as you’d expect here. Hopefully, we will move soon; we’re currently on the wait for new orders. While waiting, we had a lost ally stumble into camp. He won’t stop talking...even in his sleep. English is an ugly language._

 

_I wish that I were with you, but I know that this is my fight. Keep safe._

 

_Always yours,_

 

_Shane Madej_

 

Private Madej flops onto his stomach and begins sketching Wojtek in the blank space on the edge of his letter. He’s scratching in whiskers around Wojtek’s muzzle when his head grows heavy and he droops into dead sleep.

 

Private Madej wakes suddenly. He is looking lazily around the tent, wondering what woke him, when he hears a cry. Grabbing his rifle, Private Madej clambers out of the tent and jogs down the row. He drops his rifle--thankfully he hadn’t loaded it yet--as he surmises the scene.

 

The soldiers have formed a tight-knit circle in the area cleared for training. Wojtek, roaring in delight, dances on his hind legs around a white-faced, snot-nosed, sobbing Bergara. Repeatedly, Bergara runs to the edge of the circle, and repeatedly, the soldiers shove him back to the center. Wojtek gleefully picks up Bergara by the leg and hurls him to the other side of the circle.

 

A divine, world-smiting rage shoots through Private Madej. He throws a blind elbow into someone’s back and storms into the circle. Private Wojtek takes a few steps back and cocks his head curiously at Private Madej before landing on all fours with a loud thump. Bergara takes one look at him and dashes through the opening. Private Madej watches him go, despair rising like bile in his throat.

 

“What?” Paczkowski asks haughtily, and rage returns in a crashing wave. Private Madej wants more than anything to be able to punch through his smug face.

 

“What?” he repeats instead, and he pauses because his voice is shaking. “That’s my question. Apparently we’re now in practice of tormenting OUR ALLIES?” He’s not aware that his voice has risen to a shout until he stops talking and his words are echoing around the clearing. Wojtek huffs and steps to Private Madej’s side.

 

“Get off your high horse,” Warzel says. “You got a good laugh off of him being scared this morning. He was laughing too.”

 

“Yeah, the way you might laugh in relief, or at a misunderstanding.” Wojtek pokes his nose into Private Madej’s palm, and bit by bit, Private Madej feels like he’s coming back inside his skin. “Not at knowing about his fear and manipulating it to that extreme. You’re no better than the Germans, picking on people you know you can intimidate. Damn you straight to hell.”

 

“Hey now,” Oshinsky says, but Private Madej has even less patience for him.

 

“He _trusted_ you. He trusted you so easily.”

 

“We all wrestle Wojtek.” Despite his excuse, Oshinsky looks distinctly uneasy. “It was his initiation.”

 

“It was a group of piss-poor soldiers humiliating an ally.”

 

“You should go check on him,” Warzel says, and Private Madej distantly detects sincerity in his voice.

 

“You should figure out how to apologize in English. This went too far. And he needs to know that you know it.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Oshinsky agrees, and Private Madej shoots a glare at him before turning heel and tracking Bergara back through the camp.


	4. Furgiveness in Spades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A contrite Private Madej begins making earnest attempts to communicate with the Allied soldier. There are worse things he could be doing, he supposes.

Private Bergara is much harder to find than anticipated. Private Madej had hoped that Bergara would have returned to their tent, the practice area, the mess tent, or one of the other common areas, but each is empty. He has just completed his second lap of camp when he spots Bergara pacing towards him. Bergara notices him at approximately the same time, and Private Madej sees him warring with how to respond.

Madej doesn’t give him any option.

“Bergara!” he calls, and he discards all lazy principles to run up to Bergara before the man can evade him. Bergara eyes Madej distrustfully, and it guts Madej to think that Bergara suspects that he was involved in his torment. He flounders for a way to communicate while Bergara stares up with big eyes and a somber expression.

Madej drops to his knees. He bows his head and breathes deeply, hoping that this means something to Bergara so he didn’t just bruise his knees for nothing. He strains to make every line of his body scream shame and apology while internally cursing the limits of their communication.

“Hey,” Bergara says. “Stahp. Gitup.”

Private Madej keeps his eyes down and head bowed until Bergara tugs on his shirt. He looks up and is gratified to see that, while Bergara still looks miserable, all signs of suspicion have vanished. 

“Gitup,” Bergara says more insistently. He pulls again on Private Madej’s shirt, but Madej stays obstinately on his knees.

“I’m sorry,” Private Madej says carefully. He holds Bergara’s gaze and clasps a hand over his heart. “I’m sorry.”

“Shuh prah sham,” Bergara repeats thoughtfully. 

“I’m sorry,” Private Madej says a third time.

“I’m sorry?” Private Bergara crinkles his eyes at Private Madej, screws up his face in thought, and says with a garish American accent, “Good. Good? Good?”

“Good,” Private Madej says, and he is promptly taken aback when Private Bergara wraps him in a hug. 

“Gittup,” Private Bergara says, and he shifts his grip from hugging to lifting. Private Madej stumbles to his feet. It’s awkward when he is still being squeezed by a man at least a foot shorter than he is, but Bergara holds him for a few more seconds before releasing him.

“Shane Madej,” Private Madej says, pointing to himself. He points at Private Bergara. 

“Shane Bergara,” Private Bergara says confidently.

“Your name is Shane?” Madej asks incredulously. “I would have remembered that. No, it was something incredibly American. James? Robert? Roger? Stephen?”

“Ai dont no wat yur sain,” Private Bergara says, and Private Madej promptly remembers that if he doesn’t know what Bergara is saying, Bergara doesn’t know what he’s saying. He gesticulates as he repeats his name.

“Shane Madej.”

“Shane Bergara.”

Private Madej shakes his head. “Shane.”

“Shane.”

Private Madej takes Bergara’s hand and points it at himself. “Shane Madej,” he says firmly.

“Oh!” Private Bergara flushes as Private Madej places Bergara’s hand on Bergara’s chest. “Ryan. Im Ryan Bergara.”

“Ryan,” Private Madej repeats. “Ryan Bergara, I’m sorry.”

“Shane Madej, good.” Private Madej isn’t sure if Bergara is accepting his apology or stating that he approves of him as a person, but he’s pleased with either interpretation. Bergara isn’t finished though. “Good breakfast. Good morning. Gun. Spoon. Tent. One, two, three.” He pauses and beams proudly up at Private Madej.

“Good?” Private Madej says uncertainly. What is the appropriate response to the regurgitation of random vocabulary? Bergara breaks into an insanely radiant smile. Private Madej reflects dryly that pre-prisoner-of-war-Madej would have delighted in playing off of Bergara’s energy. Now, he just feels emotionally drained and numb. There is still one thing that he needs to sort out though. “Wojtek.” Bergara’s smile disappears and Bergara stiffens like steel. “Wojtek good. Shane Madej sorry, Wojtek sorry.”

“Wojtek arfukin kilin matchins!”

“Shane Madej sorry, Wojtek sorry. Wojtek good.”

“Nao!”

“Watch me with him,” Private Madej insists. “Watch--” he points to his eyes. “Me--” to himself. “With Wojtek.” He raises his hands like claws and kicks out his feet.

“Madej krayze,” Bergara informs him, circling a finger outside his ear. 

“Crazy,” Private Madej corrects, mimicking the motion.

“Madej crazy.” 

“Madej is crazy.”

“Madej is crazy.”

Private Madej smiles. “Good.” He feels a urgent need to atone for his earlier abandonment, a need to defend Bergara from threats both real and imagined. So when Oshinsky emerges from a row of tents, Private Madej instinctively steps in front of Bergara. Oshinsky irritably meets Madej’s eyes.

“I want to talk to him.”

Bergara moves to walk around Private Madej, but Madej side-steps him to stay between them. “Tough.”

“He’s not your pet. You don’t control him.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking and see what happened. Now I’m not so inclined to trust deranged ex-P.O.Ws around him.”

"You're no better than us."

“You deserve to have him hate you forever,” Private Madej says darkly, side stepping again as Bergara attempts to evade him yet again.

“Oshinsky good,” Bergara says. Private Madej can visualize his scrunched up face based on tone alone. “Oshinsky is good.”

“Oshinsky is good until someone comes up with a stupid idea,” Private Madej corrects while Oshinsky beams besottedly at Bergara.

“Yehs!” Bergara repeats enthusiastically. “Oshinsky is good!”

“I feel like you’re missing the conditional,” Private Madej huffs back at him. He throws his hands into the air and stalks away. After a moment’s hesitation, he turns to see Bergara shaking Oshinsky’s hand and jogging to catch up. 

“Oshinsky is good,” Bergara insists. 

“Bergara is good,” Madej responds. “Better than Oshinsky.” He starts walking again when Bergara catches up. 

“Madej is good,” Bergara says carefully, and then he promptly cackles. “Madej is crazy.”

Private Madej rolls his eyes but nonetheless wheezes along agreeably. Bergara’s pleased expression suggest that he feels incredibly witty about his two incredibly simple sentences, but Madej doesn’t feel a particular need to rain on his parade. He’ll save it for another day.


	5. Book Bearer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Private Bergara has been at camp for a couple of weeks now. He's doing well with the soldiers, but he's still terrified of Wojtek. Private Madej tries his best to be supportive.

It takes Private Madej about a week to solve the mystery.

To be fair, Private Madej was not particularly interested in solving it until he was fairly certain about the culprit’s identity.

Private Ryan Bergara looks around furtively before slipping back into the tent, elbow tucked tight against his ribs. He might as well be publicly broadcasting that he is hiding something. Less than a minute later, he re-emerges looking remarkably proud. Private Madej despairs at the idea of the American ever working undercover.

“Bergara,” he says amicably, and Private Bergara twitches violently in alarm before looking up and over to Private Madej.

“Crazy Madej,” Private Bergara answers. “What?”

“You’re not observant at all,” Private Madej informs him. He knows from the way Bergara’s brows furrow and mouth gapes in response that Bergara only understands a couple of his words. “Go back in,” Private Madej says, and he reinforces his command with a pointed finger.

Private Bergara looks like he’s considering making a run for it, so Private Madej throws an arm around his shoulder and brings him into the tent. His bedroll appears untouched, but he knows from observation that Private Bergara has rummaged underneath and crammed a few scraps of paper into his swollen notebook.

“What?” Private Bergara insists, and Private Madej points to Bergara’s bedroll. 

It’s stupid, Madej knows, but soldiers have nothing. He lost most of his personal affects when he was captured; the odds and ends currently in his possession are gifts from strangers or discarded items from the roadside. But Private Bergara actually has nothing. And it doesn’t sit right with Private Madej.

Bergara stares, and Private Madej instantly regrets everything.

“You don’t have to take it, I just thought, I don’t know what I thought,” he yammers, but as he moves forward to retrieve the book perched on Bergara's bedroll, Private Bergara tackles it and holds it to his chest.

“Yoo maydmia bouhk,” he says in an awed voice. “Idsa Wojtek bouk.”

“It’s not Wojtek,” Private Madej says. “I know you don’t like Wojtek. This is a different, totally unrelated bear named Pabiyan Przytulać.”

Private Bergara juts his chin out, and Madej knows that Bergara is about to attempt a full Polish sentence. “Thank you. I really like…” Private Bergara gestures at the book. Madej can tell that he realizes that the book is made out of the paper scraps Bergara has been secreting him. 

Private Madej shrugs and looks away. He watches Bergara carefully turn the pages. It suddenly seems the height of ridiculousness to dedicate hours to make a Polish picture book about a cuddly bear’s attempts to eat sentient canteen food while maintaining moral high ground. Despite that, Bergara’s smiling like he’s trying to rival the sun.

Kantrowitz groans and rolls over in his bedroll. “I missed breakfast, didn’t I?”

“Some news as well,” Private Madej says, relieved for a reason to look away from Bergara. “We’re apparently hosting another troop either tomorrow or the day after.”

“Polish?”

"Yeah."

“Oh, good,” Kantrowitz says dryly. “So we’re presumably headed into a battle soon. Is your friend going to fight with us?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Wojtek fights with us. Can he take it?”

Private Madej throws a quick look to Private Bergara, who is no longer thumbing through the picture book but staring intently at Private Kantrowitz. “Private Bergara has trained with us for the past two weeks, and he is fit to serve in the line of duty.”

“Okay,” Kantrowitz says. He airs out his shirt before pulling it over his head and yanks his boots on. 

Private Bergara has adapted well to the rhythm of troop life. Private Madej no longer keeps an eye on him as he spars with Oshinsky although he does keep alert whenever Warzel or Paczkowski approach. He cannot fully erase the mental image of Private Bergara at their mercy.

Bergara’s grasp of Polish is slow but steady. Private Bergara carefully cracks a joke of his own design at dinner and, after everyone overcomes their astonishment, he gets some good laughs. Bergara, Private Madej reflects, is a more social creature than he and seems to get along better with total strangers than Madej can get along with fellow prisoners-of-war. 

After dinner, as they head back to the tent, Private Bergara freezes and struggles to relax. Private Madej turns to see Wojtek ambling along behind Zacharewicz . It is, Madej reckons, a good sign that Bergara is making an effort to overcome his crippling fear.

Not, however, good enough.

Because the arrival of the visiting troops the next day at noon is also the arrival of Private Bergara’s greatest fear.


End file.
